Heads or Tails
by Toraptor
Summary: It could have been different, but there was something right, something familiar, about Saïx and Roxas standing under the same stars. And so, Xemnas decided: No, Saïx absolutely was not allowed to pawn Roxas off to Axel.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes: A fair bit of warning: the amount of super detailed KH lore I have memorized is actually embarrassingly large, but some weird details seem to slip away, like the fact Xemnas probably remembered who Xehanort was. Yeah I forgot when I wrote this fic. Canon is more of guideline anyhow. As such, some characters might come across slightly out of character.**

* * *

**Day One**

There were days when Saïx really wanted to light the paperwork on fire and tear down most of the castle. Lately, those days were coming more frequently than not.

Demyx returned with yet another unfinished report for a failed mission. Luxord demanded the Caribbean. Larxene wanted better accommodations. Xaldin complained about the disgusting romance between a beast and a woman. Everyone came to him with every little and petty issue their minds could brew up.

Meanwhile, he was still busy trying to put together schedules and match people to missions.

Yes, he was, in fact, trying to make their lives a little easier. He could have assigned Axel to Atlantica. Wonderland wasn't ideal, but at least it wasn't a water-world. He could have sent Demyx to the lions in the Pridelands—instead, he got Agrabah. No, it wasn't ideal.

"Saïx, do better," they wailed. "Saïx, you're such a slave-driver."

Saïx stamped a mission the Superior wanted filed through and assigned it to Xigbar with a scowl.

Clearly, Saïx was the leader of the Organization now. He decided all missions and where they needed to go. He was definitely the reason their lives were hell. It didn't have anything to do with the fact their lives, at the moment, were simply the definition of unideal.

He snarled at Xigbar as the man arrived to retrieve the mission. All he got in reply was a chuckle—a daring hand reaching out to pat his head—Saïx snapped, both physically with his teeth and patience-wise, going for Lunatic.

Xigbar disappeared.

Next was Axel, who padded in with a yawn. He flopped down on a sofa, while Saïx stewed stubbornly. There was no heart in his chest, but the smoldering burn of pure rage he felt at Xigbar's attempt to pat his head made him wonder.

"Who shit in your breakfast?" said Axel, tossing his arms back, sounding very unconcerned.

Saïx almost wished he'd try and look curious. Almost.

"Xigbar," he said behind gritted teeth, shoving a manila folder at Axel's chest. "Mission. Agrabah. Now."

He didn't wait to see if Axel grabbed it, picking up his pen to prepare another mission. The tip of the pen hovered over the page. He waited to hear Axel leave. When nothing happened, he risked a look up, only to meet Axel's eyes directly. One might think, in ten years, Saïx would have gotten used to that contemplative blank expression Axel sometimes wore: the look on his face when he forgot to pretend he felt something. It was like staring into the eyes of a corpse.

Saïx buried himself back in the paperwork, unable to stomach it another second. A breath forced out of his lungs, his body working on mechanical autopilot.

A gusty sigh finally erupted from Axel.

"Whatever, man."

Saïx looked up again, but Axel was already disappearing through a dark corridor. He thought to call after Axel, but instead watched him go. Even as he firmly told himself Axel's exit was nothing to over-think, his mood was already fouling. He had been a little curt (or maybe a lot curt, whatever), but that hardly explained Axel's reaction. He was always curt and to the point. Otherwise, he'd waste half the day on pleasantries.

Trying to justify his actions only sent him spiraling into a deeper gloom, exacerbated by the arrival of Demyx, who was promptly sent out to Wonderland. The rest came and went quickly enough, and then Saïx was left to brood in bliss.

He left the Gray Area and made a beeline for his room, only for the warping sound of a dark corridor to draw him short. A sharp reprimand for whoever was returning so soon—it had better not have been Demyx—formed in his mouth, only to die when the Superior stepped out of the corridor.

"Sir," he said, standing a little straighter.

"Everyone has been debriefed?"

Saïx nodded.

"Very good," said the Superior with a smile that was neither kind, nor malicious. It was simply there, like a curious-shaped knob might form on a tree trunk. "I trust you have no other pressing matters?"

There were days Saïx wondered how Xemnas would react if he answered those questions with, "Yes, in fact, I was in the middle of a very important pile of paperwork. If you'd excuse me?" Would that not have destroyed every one of Saïx's careful plans, he might have been tempted.

He shook his head wordlessly, meeting the Superior halfway across the room, hands hanging loosely at his sides.

The slow, drawling way the Superior spoke, like the gradual ebb and flow of an ice age, always forcibly reminded Saïx of his first few days as a Nobody. It was the teeter of anticipation when a stone dropped in water, waiting for the ripple, only to hang listless and still. They, all of them, waited eternally for the sweet breakthrough of emotion, knowing it would never arrive.

"We have a new addition to our Organization," said the Superior, and the news of another member—the all-important thirteen—was almost enough to distract him from the use of "our." Almost, but not quite. Saïx did always have a habit of getting caught on the smaller details.

Our. What to make of it?

And another member to add to his packed schedule.

"Where are they?" said Saïx, noticing the glaring absence of anyone else.

The Superior swept his hand to the side and a dark corridor opened again. In stepped a figure a little shorter than Zexion, but a little broader. Under the heavy hood, he could make out a pair of dull blue eyes.

His name was Roxas. That was easy enough to remember. He also was a keyblade-wielder, which was slightly more unusual. Most of his face was still obscured by the hood, leaving his appearance a mystery.

"He will need to be trained and looked after for the first few days," said the Superior, causing Saïx to go rigid as realization dawned, denial setting in a second later. A thousand arguments why it was a bad idea, and other people more fitting for the job, flew to his mind. They all died when he saw the look on the Superior's face—not final, or stubborn. It was wistful.

Petrified, Saïx could do little more than nod.

As though the universe was finally slotting itself back into place, the Superior smiled, one that had the hollow echo of real triumph. Saïx would like to know what battle he'd waged for such a victory.

"I leave Roxas in your capable hands."

Ten years ago, Isa would have laughed aloud to hear that. A child—left to him. It was hilarious. Saïx could accidentally kill him.

Business concluded, the Superior opened another corridor and vanished, leaving Saïx alone with the newcomer. He hoped Roxas was just a really short adult. A very, very short adult. His silence could be an anti-social personality, and Saïx would have to do little with him.

Neither of them moved. Saïx waited for—he wasn't sure what, but it became apparent that whatever it was, it wouldn't happen in his lifetime.

"Follow me," said Saïx, hoping Roxas understood basic commands. He was relieved when the mini-adult trailed behind him. "It's too early for field missions. For now, you'll stay here."

Roxas stood in the middle of Saïx's office.

"You won't stay here during all hours. You have a room."

Roxas said nothing. Hopefully it wasn't too late to shuffle the responsibility to Axel, because Saïx was not built for dealing with mini-adults. Or children.

"Help me organize this paperwork."

That was how most of the day went by, as Saïx fell into autopilot. Roxas proved himself tireless and surprisingly useful, and they finished in half the time it took Saïx normally. He set aside the finished paperwork with a sigh of relief, only to realize he had several hours of time to fill in with—something.

He eyed Roxas. There had been nary a word from him.

"Can you speak?"

"Yes."

Well, then. Saïx crossed his leg, clasping his hands over his kneecap primly.

"You are not loquacious."

That stirred the briefest of reaction: Roxas's shoulders twitching, his hooded head lifting slightly. Saïx caught another glimpse of blue eyes. The sharp, narrow jawline jogged a memory, old and foggy. It hung agonizingly out of reach.

"Loq—loka—"

"Loquacious," Saïx corrected swiftly. "Talkative. Effusive."

"Effusive."

"Yes, that's a word."

"I don't… know it."

Saïx was not a teacher. He didn't care to mentor anyone. That didn't stop him from pulling several books out of his personal collection and setting up a mini school session. At first, Roxas only stared at the book, but did nothing with it, and Saïx feared he couldn't read. With a gentle prompting, Roxas flipped it open. The smallest noise of understanding came from under the hood, and Roxas's finger perused the words.

A few hours later, Saïx had to forcibly pull the books away. Despite his pleasure at finding out Roxas was an academic, there was no use burning him out in one day.

"You're at about a seventh grade level," Saïx mumbled, already charting out lessons. Between fighting heartless, sleeping, and eating, there might be time to fit in a few lessons. Not that was strictly necessary, he knew; chances were, when they were recompleted, Roxas would go back to his ordinary life and school regime. "No use letting you fall behind, I suppose."

There was no reply. While the silence was golden at times, the blankness in Roxas's personality was strange.

"That's all for today."

It was as good a dismissal as any, but Roxas didn't move, clutching a book in hand.

"You may leave."

Roxas finally spoke, only to ask, "Where?"

He might've have known arithmetic and grammar, but Roxas was a shade away from brain dead. The comment was on the tip of Saïx's tongue, before the door slammed open and it rapidly changed into a bark of, "Knock!"

Axel ignored him, flopping down in the chair in front of Saïx's desk with a groan.

"Today sucked ass," said Axel, unaware of Roxas standing in the corner. "If I have to take care of another goddamn—"

"Language," snapped Saïx.

"Oh, suck a co—"

"Why don't you say hello to our newest member?" said Saïx with a mirthless smile, motioning to Roxas. "He's Roxas. He's also about ten years old."

Or something like that. Ten, fourteen. He had hard time telling the difference.

"Yo, kid, maybe forget the past minute," said Axel, twisting lazily in the chair to face Roxas, sheepishly scratching his neck. "I'm Axel. Welcome to the Organization."

Roxas nodded without a word. There was something wrong with the book he was holding.

Pursing his lips, Axel mirrored the move, letting out a slow exhale.

"Tough crowd."

"He's newly formed," said Saïx.

"I'm sorry, was that a hint of caring in your tone?"  
"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Ouch. And here I thought you'd miss me."

Saïx contemplated the size and weight of the basket on the ground, and whether or not it would cause Axel's head permanent injury. The basket ended up staying put, as Saïx had—well, he hadn't outright missed Axel, but he lingered over the absence of noise in Axel's departure. Silence glittered, but wasn't gold.

"So, I see the Superior put you on babysitting duty," said Axel, making Saïx reconsider everything he'd just thought.

"Roxas is a keybearer," said Saïx, sounding too defensive even to his own ears. "I am simply ensuring he settles into the Organization without issue."

He glanced to Roxas, only to notice the book was being held upside down.

"Xemnas put you on babysitting duty. Face it."

"Get out."

Axel cackled as he beat a hasty retreat, leaving Saïx glaring at the door. He pinched the bridge of his nose once Axel's footsteps had faded away. Roxas hadn't budged an inch, staring out at nothing, the book held to his chest.

A bubble of something just like exasperation had Saïx cutting across the room and plucking the book from Roxas's hands.

His eyes caught on the planets and stars painted on the cover. Constellations and planetary conversions; black holes and galactic anomalies. It had everything to do with space. Roxas hadn't reacted outwardly, and maybe it was Saïx's imagination, but disappointment seemed to hang off him like a ghost.

Saïx pushed the book back into his hands, mumbling a hasty, "You hold it like this."

He had to walk Roxas to his room. Once he was out of the picture, Saïx could finally breathe easily. He retired to his own room, hanging up his coat with ten more identical coats. Halfway through a cup of evening tea, he wondered if Roxas knew to brush his teeth.

It struck him like a bolt of lightning:

He was a goddamn babysitter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Day Two**

Saïx was very relieved to learn that Roxas did, in fact, know to brush his teeth. He also knew to eat and drink water, becoming quite proficient at working the microwave for those cheap meals of which Number IX was so fond.

Watching Roxas slurp up noodles during meals, or munch on candy bars as they worked through piles of paperwork, was nothing short of torture. There was probably more nutrients packed into the soil. If he wasn't afraid Roxas would take it too seriously, and wasn't trying to be taken seriously by the Organization, he'd suggest Roxas make a meal of grass instead.

By the end of the day, it was all he could do not to write up a complete schedule plan to fix Roxas's horrible diet. As it was, he couldn't stop himself sharing some green tea and hoping it would do _something_ for Roxas's neglected body.

"I wonder if he'd like ice cream," said Axel, stopping by for a quick chat he'd promised would be important, but turned into gossip within minutes. "I heard Larxene has a soft spot for chocolate cakes. Maybe Roxas would like some?"

"Absolutely not," snapped Saïx sharply. He stacked the papers, dropping them harshly between his loose fingers, and narrowed his eyes over their edges. "He doesn't need sweets."

Not after the filth he'd been packing into his diet.

"Why d'you have to be such a killjoy?" said Axel, sighing dramatically. There was an odd lack of humor in his eyes that usually softened the accusatory blows of those questions. It had been a long day.

"Demyx will be Dusked by the end of the week if he keeps this up," said Saïx, rolling his eyes at the latest pitiful attempt at a report. He turned the scribbles over to show Axel. "I think that's supposed to be a tree."

"I think it looks fine."

Saïx lowered the papers slowly, certain he was missing some sort of mysterious and unspoken queue, but kept his mouth shut. No need to further the miscommunication, and lightening the mood had never been his strong suit from the beginning.

"I suppose you'll be having ice cream, then?" said Saïx, knowing he couldn't leave the paperwork, but also doubting his ability to stay on task if an out was given.

"Yep," said Axel, popping the P, "and you'll be here slaving away?"

Saïx gripped the pen hard enough for the plastic to crack.

"I will."

"Kudos."

It was an uneventful, miserable day. For both of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Day Three**

Every member of Organization XIII was given a starter pack of personal affects upon being inducted, including, but not limited to, a journal. Saïx routinely wrote in his, filling it with things both nonsensical and important. A few doodles lined the pages, musical numbers written out for a tune he hadn't played in years. He kept it hidden with furious abandon; not because he was embarrassed of it, but for the horror of Demyx learning Saïx had been a musician.

Violin had been one of the few hobbies Isa kept close to heart, along with a couple others that Saïx tried very hard not to think about from fear of hysterical laughter.

The journal burned a hole in Saïx's pocket that day. It wasn't from anything written in it, nor was it the pressing need to write something, but simply the knowledge it was there—utterly bizarre, he knew, but it was the truth.

Also, he'd seen Roxas writing in his own journal.

Now, Saïx knew very well that Roxas could write. Roxas's most difficult task of the past three days had been rewriting one of Demyx's reports, so Saïx wouldn't have to hunt down Demyx himself to do it. That didn't stop him from staring and almost asking, "You write?" in a dumb sort of tone that would receive more confused looks than glares.

Saïx, for research purposes, took the scenic route around the sofa and stole a look at the journal. He couldn't help it. Curiosity was his downfall.

_Wrote more reports. They keep saying I don't have a heart. That Nobodies are not people and we have no person to be a people. But if we are here, then what are we?_

Roxas, it seemed, had skipped right over the teen-angst part of teenhood and jumped right into existential crisis. The question was enough to make Saïx twitch, furtively shoving his own thoughts down. He was not going to obsess over the subject for hours. He wasn't. He definitely wasn't.

Five hours later, Saïx pulled his head out of his hands as his office door slammed open, hastily grabbing a pile of papers to look busy. They were already graded. With luck, they wouldn't notice.

"Hey, stop killing that B plus."

It was Axel.

Saïx pushed the papers away with a sigh.

"What do you want?" he asked, almost cringing at the coldness of his own voice. The last thing he wanted was Axel nosing into his state of mind.

"Hello to you, too," said Axel, rolling his eyes. "Heard a big mission might be coming up. As in, more than one big-wig in the same spot."

Oh, yes. Saïx had heard all about Castle Oblivion from their Superior, who not-so-secretly loved the sound of his own voice. It was important enough that something bad was going to have to happen to all the plans surrounding the castle.

"An exact date for the mission start has not been given," said Saïx, lacing his fingers over the desk. "Nor have people been chosen."

"The Superior hasn't given you a hint?" said Axel. "C'mon, man. I have a hard time believing that. Maybe you missed something?"  
Saïx was struck, as ever, with the urge to throw something at Axel's head.

"I didn't miss anything. He has not seen fit to inform me the extent of his plans. For all his speech and posture, it's just empty words."

"You falling out of his good graces?" said Axel, smiling, but there was a forced quality to his humor.

"I should think not," said Saïx briskly, standing to migrate to the other side of the room. A window opened up to a full view of Kingdom Hearts. "Otherwise, I would be dead. One doesn't simply fall out of graces with the Superior."

Axel gave a noncommittal hum.

"Is something on your mind?" Saïx snapped, harsher than he intended, but sometimes putting a cork in the bottle of violence within him was more disastrous than not.

However, instead of acknowledging it, Axel changed the subject.

"How's Roxas been doing?"

"Questioning his place in life."

The words tasted bitter and Saïx grimaced. All at once, he wanted nothing but silence.

"Now why is that?" said Axel, the accusatory lilt to his tone impossible to ignore. He didn't wait for Saïx to respond. "You've got him pushing papers. I thought he was some kind of keyblade warrior."

"I am quite sure he is," said Saïx, sliding a pile of reports that were ungraded in front of him, focusing on the words but not really comprehending them. "However, it does no good to send him out haphazardly."

"Normally, I'd agree," said Axel, "except I know you're doing this 'cause he's doing half your paperwork. C'mon, Isa. Let the kid off?"

"Oh, he's a kid now?" said Saïx, very carefully not ripping through the paper as he graded Demyx's report with a curvy C.

"He's been alive three days. A kid."

"Weren't you just saying he should be off risking his life on missions?" said Saïx, knowing he was only adding potassium to the water, but unable to stop his runaway mouth. How easy it was to lose control when it wasn't with the Superior, who would smite him in an instant.

"That is NOT what I meant," Axel groaned, digging his palms into his eyes. "You just—GAH!"

"Use your speaking words," said Saïx dryly, perhaps too dryly, because Axel finally stormed to his feet.

The cycle was a familiar one, welcomed even, the first spark in a heated argument. It was the only way, it seemed, they could communicate whatever sticky, incongruent thoughts were lurking in their minds. He waited for the first snap, never one to take that first leap himself, jaw clenching and unclenching.

Only, there was the warped echo of a dark corridor opening. Axel's eyes were cold and corpse-like, the last sight Saïx was treated to, before he was left to an empty office and an even emptier silence. The cold settling in Axel's absence made him wish for an argument.

Maybe then, they would have actually said something to each other.

Saïx stepped into the kitchen and finally broke.

The job he was assigned required him to put up with a lot of the Organization's antics, up to and including Demyx flooding the basement and Vexen slipping scientific experiments into meals. He was mentally and physically equipped to handle just about any chaos they managed to sow. Even with that in mind, there were lines in the sand he drew to remind him of when order needed to be put back into place.

He had stumbled across one of those lines unknowingly, walking directly into a wall he had not known he put up, unceremoniously agreeing with himself that it needed addressing immediately. It would not stand—it could not stand.

Roxas was eating marshmallow puff cereal with chocolate milk.

The sheer amount of sugar packed into one bowl was enough to make Saïx's skin crawl. Cavities that didn't exist ached in his mouth. He could already feel his energy level crashing as the sugar dragged him down to hell.

It was too much.

"Roxas!" he barked, disregarding the way Roxas jumped cleanly off the chair, missing his mouth with the spoon and jabbing himself in the eye. "Follow me."

Roxas had the nerve to ask, "Is something wrong?" as he reached for his bowl to bring with them. Saïx was having none of that.

It was with a subtle pout that Roxas left the kitchen with Saïx, through a dark corridor. They stepped out on the other end behind a dumpster, to the side of a grocery store. It was nothing fancy; an indoor farmer's market, packed full of healthy goods, but from where they landed it looked like a garbage dump. Roxas wrinkled his nose, casting an appraising look back at the dark corridor, clearly wondering if he could make through before it closed.

Before he could think of acting on those wishes, Saïx dispelled the corridor, beckoning Roxas onward. Around the side of the store, there were flowers blooming, hummingbirds fluttering around a tree with violet and blue blossoms. The sulkiness drained from Roxas the moment they stepped inside, greeted by the aroma of freshly baked goods.

"What are we doing here?" said Roxas.

Not for the first time, Saïx wished the hood would drop off his face so he could see whatever slightly-less-zombified expression graced his face. Maybe then, he could pin down the torturous feeling familiarity whenever Roxas spoke.

"Shopping," said Saïx, grabbing a basket and marching in to the store, pretending not to notice the way people craned their necks to stare. It wasn't as though they often had people in full length black leather jackets in their little town. "We're going through the produce isle first, so pick out whatever catches your eye."

It seemed like a good idea. He could allow Roxas that little control in his life, guide on a better path toward healthy eating, and they could go back to their regularly scheduled days. The produce section wasn't enormous, so it wasn't as though he could dither for hours.

Saïx could not have made a worse mistake.

Roxas stood at the isle, staring at a row of carrots—and staring, and staring, and staring. A visible trickle of Saïx's patience was leaking out, forcing him to take deep breaths. He didn't want to snap at Roxas, especially not there. Roxas was, after all, only three days old. Axel had had a point.

"You can pick one," said Saïx, straining out what he hoped was a smile.

Slowly, with careful precision one might use during open heart surgery, Roxas plucked exactly one carrot up. He turned and faced Saïx blankly, carrot held loosely in hand.

The strange urge to cry from pure frustration was a conditioned response from living fifteen years of his life with a heart. Or, that was what he kept telling himself.

Saïx gave a careful, controlled exhale as he said, "You can pick more than one thing."

He almost lost hope when Roxas reached for three more carrots, saved only when Roxas moved on and started filling the basket with random fruits and vegetables. So far, they had carrots, turnips, a dragon fruit, and six tomatoes. Saïx didn't want to risk discouraging Roxas by putting some of them back, so he followed dutifully and wracked his mind for a meal fitting the ingredients.

They eventually wandered out of the produce section and Saïx managed to direct Roxas to pick out ingredients for food that people would actually eat. He paused at the meat section. Everyone in the Organization liked different meats, but he knew Xigbar in particular had an addiction to bacon. It was all too tempting to buy tofu just to spite everyone, but he remembered Roxas had never experienced bacon and, well—Saïx wasn't much of a carnivore himself, but even he enjoyed bacon.

Saïx walked into the store for healthy food and left with ten pounds of bacon.

"This is not the way one usually shops," he said, looping multiple bags around his arms, relieved when Roxas moved to do the same.

The last thing he wanted was for Roxas to form a habit of eating fattening, greasy foods. Nobodies they were, but immune to bad choices they weren't, and eating ten pounds of bacon frequently was decidedly a bad choice. He highly suspected other members of the Organization would help out in that regard.

"I suppose your experience in the kitchen is limited to junk food?" said Saïx, once they stepped through another corridor, back into the kitchens.

Those things really were useful.

"I can cook poptarts," said Roxas.

"That's not cooking," said Saïx, only to notice Roxas's face fall, and scrambled to add, "It is of no consequence."

Despite lacking in experience, or maybe because of his ignorance, Roxas was eager to learn. That was all fine and well, but Saïx had work and the rest of the Organization would be arriving for the day to turn in their mission reports, and he had no time for teaching. There were days the fact Saïx was a glorified secretary smacked him in the face.

The nearly imperceptible miasma of disappointment filled the kitchen, leaving Saïx with the impression he was making himself out to be a horrible monster. His will crumbled as Roxas fiddled with his sleeves—he shouldn't have had the capacity to show a nervous twitch—and Saïx wondered where his eternal contrarian had gone.

"Have you ever had a sandwich?"

That, ladies and gentlemen, was how Saïx ended up spending the time he was supposed to be hard at work fixing sandwiches. Roxas was spectacularly terrible at it, going through five slices of bread before finally stopped somehow tearing them apart halfway through the process. The finished product was no less mangled, but Roxas's satisfaction was nigh palpable and that was what mattered.

Saïx planned to leave Roxas to himself after the sandwich lesson was finished. The plan was foiled before it even fully hatched, as Roxas trailed behind him, sandwich in hand, crumbs on his front, munching absentmindedly through the halls of the castle. Saïx gathered the energy to pretend it was a huge inconvenience, but his resolve fizzled out immediately.

It was the perfect time to tell Roxas the training period was almost finished. He pushed the unfilled report at Roxas, deciding it would be hint enough.

Roxas, on autopilot, stamped it and moved it into the finished pile.

"That's not where it goes," said Saïx, taking on a whole new level of patience he wasn't aware he possessed, sliding it in front of him again. "Your first mission is tomorrow."

"Alright."

The response was like a gentle smack. Saïx waited for another, only for Roxas to start stamping again. Saïx had a vision of a robot beneath the coat, silver and wire, a rotating cogs filling his insides, and it was disturbing enough that the silence became oppressive. He half expected to hear the thrum of mechanical joints.

"It's in Twilight Town," he blurted. It said that on the paper he gave Roxas, so there was no reason to reiterate it. "Axel and I used to visit that town frequently."

After losing their hearts, ice cream had tasted more like ash and dirt than sugar and salt. Saïx had come up with excuse after excuse to avoid the ritualistic bar of sea-salt ice cream. Eventually, Axel reached a conclusion, and stopped inviting Saïx to the clock tower. It was the wrong conclusion.

"There was a report of increased shadow heartless activity in the sewage system of town, so it shouldn't be a problem to keep out of sight."

"Keep out of sight?"

He was certain he'd taught Roxas more than minor culinary skills and how to shuffle paperwork. It only became more apparent with each passing day he was not fit for the job of training Roxas.

"World order," said Saïx. "The people of Twilight Town are unaware of other worlds, and must stay that way."

There was a noncommittal, "Oh," of acknowledgement, and Saïx cleared his (non-existent) plans for the next day.

"I will be accompanying you to ensure nothing goes wrong."


	4. Chapter 4

**Day Four**

Saïx snapped awake without preamble, as he did most mornings, jarred by an inner alarm clock that showed neither mercy, nor hints of relenting. Only the people who had known him personally, before they all became Nobodies, would have known Isa was an insomniac by nature. He wasn't sure if it had been conditional, from the fateful hobby that gave him the "Luna" part in his moniker, "Luna Diviner," or because he'd really been an insomniac, but it was rare for Saïx's Somebody to be awake before the hour of ten o'clock.

Now, his ragged and strained body roused him around the same time the birds started chirping—which was, to say, far too early. Not that there were birds in the World That Never Was. The point was, Saïx got up very early for no reason at all and he didn't like it.

Resigned to wakefulness, he put on kettle of water to boil for tea and sat next to the window. Kingdom Hearts glowed soft and pale in the velvety black sky, a coagulation of hearts thrumming in beat to each other. He wondered if the hearts somehow knew what they were being used for, if they could feel sympathy for the ones who had nothing, and yearned for everything.

Impatience was a plague, his eyes flicking to the kettle three times, each time more certain than the last it would be finished. A twitch of spontaneous, access energy had him leaping to his feet, pacing the room back and forth. He didn't even need tea at this point; there was trickle of discontent under his skin and he couldn't stay still if he wanted to.

He tried absorbing himself in Kingdom Hearts again, but the itch between his shoulder blades made it impossible. Nothing was out of place in his room, so it wasn't that. He hadn't broken his routine—much—in the past few days. Roxas didn't count.

The kettle still hadn't finished.

He brought his clasped fingers to his face, breathing deeply. A deep energy stirred within. He would feel much better if he just smacked the table into a wall, and maybe tore out part of the window.

Wrestling down the berserk state was so much harder when he hadn't even realized it was coming on, forcing deep breaths. He had to remind himself he wanted that tea in his stomach, not splattered on the pavement below his window.

The door grabbed his attention. No one was there, but it was there, and there was something wrong.

Saïx nearly tore it off its hinges, a snarl fixed on his face.

A little figure waited outside his door, blank face staring up at him.

"Roxas?"

Saïx smoothed his face over, trying not to look as though he'd been out for murder.

"I don't know how to cook bacon."

Behind Saïx, the tea kettle started wailing. If he had a heart, he'd be laughing incredulously. Part of him was curious to know how long Roxas was standing outside his door, but the rest of him still wanted to go berserk and destroy half the castle.

Through an immense labor of effort, Saïx tampered down his temper and bade Roxas wait long enough for him to collect his personal affects for the day. Once the door was shut, he poured the water down the drain, and then crunched the kettle into a ball of aluminum and threw it at the window so hard, the glass cracked. A spell fixed it easily enough, but left Saïx exhausted from something other than magical drain. It was some kind of sick joke that the only facsimiles of emotion he could "experience" were the negative ones, like rage.

Roxas didn't speak on their walk to the kitchen. It was empty, early enough that Saïx hoped to get breakfast out of the way before the rest of the Organization woke, and he was roped into cooking for everyone.

As though awoken by the primordial instinct that, somewhere in the castle, bacon was sizzling, the others arrived more or less at once. Roxas remained blissfully unaware of Saïx's rising urge to throw the pan of bacon at Larxene's face. Demyx walked in and the urge intensified.

"Something stinks," said Larxene, announcing the arrival of Vexen, who immediately sneered.

"Don't mistake the smell of your synapsis straining to function with me."

"You son of a—"

"Oh, to be weak-minded and resort to profanity in lieu of a real retort," said Vexen, taking a seat and piling his plate with bacon.

"Ugh. You're under the mistaken impression you're worth wasting a good retort on," said Larxene.

Saïx slammed another pan of fried sausage and eggs down and silenced them with a single glare. They both returned to their meals, but Saïx kept an eye on Vexen. The last thing Saïx needed was one of his experimental solutions "accidentally" spilling in someone's food.

Once he was finished in the kitchen with the food, he joined the others—and pulled Roxas into a chair when he didn't follow. Halfway through a delightfully uneventful meal, the munching and smacking of jaws (they really needed to get some white noise machines) was interrupted by Marluxia, who slunk into the kitchen with a quirked brow and a question in his cornflower blue eyes.

"Well, this is perfectly domesticated," he purred with a smile, deliberately not looking at Saïx. "Who is the kind soul we have to thank for such a meal?"

"We have souls?" said Luxord.

"It was a sentiment."

Luxord nodded without a word, offering meager thumbs up.

"It was Saïx," Larxene grumbled, rolling her eyes. "To answer your question."

"Oh?" said Marluxia, turning beatifically surprised eyes on Saïx, mouth perfectly rounded, and Saïx was already writing up the nastiest assignment he could possibly fathom. "That was so thoughtful. What brought on this abnormally kind and altruistic move?"

Oh, he already knew. His eyes flicked to Roxas, then back to Saïx, a contended little smile resting languidly on his face. There was a sense of success that reeked off him so intently, that Saïx was seriously tempted to throw the frying pan at him—boiling hot oil, bacon, and all. Marluxia polished off his food with primness, never a move out of place, and thanked Saïx with such a graciousness it could only be mocking.

As Marluxia was heading out the door, Saïx called after him, fixing his own (painful) faked smile, and asked, "How do you like Wonderland?"

"It's a rather pleasant world," said Marluxia grudgingly. "Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity," said Saïx, and then, remembering a perfect assignment, added, "and you'll be in Agrabah today. There's been a behemoth sighting, so Demyx says."

Marluxia's flattery went dead, his eyes flinty, and Saïx couldn't help a cattish smirk as he left. It was such a tragedy that Saïx had forgotten to order more sun screen from the Moogle Salesman.

There would be issues with the arrangement, of course, since handing Marluxia the behemoth mission deprived Lexaeus of an adequately challenging mission. Just as the neoshadows in Wonderland popped into his mind, Axel arrived and Saïx remembered the mission had been reserved for him. Otherwise, that would leave a toss-up of everyone else, and none of the possible combinations were very good.

"What's this?" said Axel, giving a shark-like grin as he noticed the full meal. "Kiss the cook, eh?"

Saïx blinked, slow and sluggish, before noticing the words sown into the apron he'd donned for breakfast. Taking it off would be express embarrassment, which he wasn't, but he was tempted.

"One hundred munny says he'll do it," said Luxord, leaning over to whisper in Demyx's ear, as if he didn't know Saïx could very well hear him.

"I'm not an idiot," said Demyx.

Larxene gave a very loud, very deliberate laugh.

"Number one, rude," said Demyx. "Number two, I'm not!"

If there was a lesson to be learned from cooking breakfast, it was that Saïx should never, ever, under any circumstances (even under pain of death), cook breakfast for the entire organization. Or anyone other than himself, really. By the time the others were finished and it was just Saïx, Roxas, and Axel, he was finished with the day as a whole. He still needed to get the reports together, too.

Axel, on the flip side, appeared to be more content than he'd bothered to express in a very long time. He cracked a few kinks out of his back, yawning loudly, and went for the coffee machine.

"So, what did bring all this on?" said Axel, gesticulating at the entire kitchen, before pausing to pour himself a mug of coffee. He sipped it, letting out an "ah" of relief. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I was teaching Roxas valuable life skills," said Saïx, motioning to where Roxas was scraping at the frying pan with a plastic spoon. A little piece of him, still alive, that he hadn't known was there, withered and died. "It is a working progress, but he has made leaps and bounds."

"And cooking bacon is part of that?"

Saïx's lips thinned.

"He needs to be able to care for himself."

"He was doing just fine before."

"Poptarts are not taking care of himself."

"I like the blueberry flavor," Roxas interjected idly, still poking at something that must have been very interesting in the frying pan.

Silence reigned in the kitchen as Saïx scrounged for something to say to Axel, who seemed more interested in plucking leftover pieces of bacon that he was in anything Saïx had to say. Once his pointed avoidance became obvious, Saïx unceremoniously gave up his attempts—his job wasn't to figure out what knot had bunched up in their friendship yet again—and untied the apron.

"That's nice," said Saïx flatly. "We must be going. Axel, I'll see you later with your report. Roxas, follow me."

"Saïx—"

He stopped on the proverbial dime, turning his head to show his undivided attention, while Roxas dithered at the doorway. Axel's brows were furrowed, worrying the bacon between his forefinger and thumb.

"How's Roxas's training been going?"

Saïx hadn't expected anything in particular, but somehow Axel's question shot fifty leagues out of bounds of what he wanted to hear. To make matters even better (that was sarcasm. That was very heavy sarcasm), Saïx knew with absolute certainty that Axel wasn't asking about Roxas's training. Their conversation two days ago returned with force.

"Roxas's training goes well," he said, sharp as broken glass. "Is that all?"

"So he's been promoted from glorified secretary to fully-fledged mission-taking member of our illustrious Organization?" said Axel.

Saïx would have said he wasn't paid enough to deal with personal issues, but it was his own personal issues and he wasn't getting paid anyway.

"Yes," he snapped. "Roxas is taking missions. He has a mission right now."

Roxas was still watching the interaction, utterly blank.

"Right now," Saïx repeated.

Roxas tilted his head, mouth curving in a frown.

"What do you—"

"NOW!"

Roxas scurried away and Saïx had a flash of immediate regret. His insides hardened with resolve at the glare Axel was throwing him. 'That was unnecessary,' Axel's face was accusing him. 'Monster,' it was saying. They had changed so much, and neither of them had even noticed it was happening. There was a time, when they were boys, something as small as a child couldn't wedge them apart.

Axel opened his mouth and Saïx flung up every petulant, stubborn barrier he could think of, every right and reason to defend his actions. It took every ounce of his self-control not to turn around and cross his arms, because he couldn't count the amount of times Isa had crossed his arms, glared pointedly at Lea, one brow arched, and then they'd broken into laughter—

"Is it even worth arguing over?" said Axel, not Lea, dead-eyed and sighing.

"I would think not."

"Whatever, then."

Axel plucked up one more piece of charred bacon and ambled out of the kitchen, brushing passed Saïx without so much as a second glance. And Saïx, he was weak, because he watched him go every step of the way. But that was just like him, wasn't it? Even when they were good friends, it was always Isa watching Lea.

He left the remains of breakfast on the table for the Dusks to clean, carefully not looking into the zippered hoods, lest he see the shadow of a real face, and collected the mission assignments for everyone.

He was stopped by the Superior once for an extra detail—not too unusual, but the question he'd asked after was nothing short of shocking.

"How does Roxas settle in your care?"

He wasted precious seconds of the Superior's time wrapping his mind around the question. It wasn't about Roxas's training, how he was settling into the Organization, but Saïx's tutelage. Or, how they were getting along. Either way, it mattered very little whether or not Roxas floundered or thrived under Saïx's care—only that he was ready and capable of reaping hearts from Heartless.

"I have a mind to assign partners," said the Superior, walking deliberately in step with Saïx, hands clasped behind his back. The words he spoke were in his dusky baritone, but they formed in his mouth in an awkward tumble—or, at least, what Saïx thought was awkward. He'd never truly attribute the word 'awkward' to the Superior. "Though a few members seem to work best solo. I do not partake in missions and your work keeps you too busy; thus, leaving us one member uneven for partnerships."

"Might I have input?" said Saïx politely, hardly daring to speak his mind in earnest, because that was a terrible idea if he'd ever heard one. Growing up with Lea, he'd heard his fare share of bad ideas, too. (One time, they sneaked into a rich woman's soiree and somehow were blackmailed into cross-dressing as serving girls. Isa kept the dress and no one ever needed to know.)

"I welcome it," said the Superior, and it took a force of nature for Saïx to not call him out on his bullshit.

Saïx was, thankfully, his own force of nature.

"Doubling the forces up only halves their productivity. Nine, in particular, is distractible enough that another person with him could be detrimental to his attention span, at best; at worst, he puts off all the work to his partner."

"Is Nine clever enough to manipulate his partner into such a thing?" said the Superior.

Saïx's lips thinned into a line, having long accepted the fact most of the Organization wrote Demyx off as a complete moron. In their defense, it was easy to do, with the slow and lazy smirk that was so easily mistaken for a mindless smile, the absentmindedness that often lead to others doing Demyx's jobs for him.

"Even so, the fifty percent cut in productivity of such a venture is not something to disregarded, if you would like my honest opinion," said Saïx, knowing fully well his "opinion" would be filed away and promptly forgotten.

"I see," said the Superior, and if that wasn't ominous, nothing was, "and you have not answered my question yet, Number Seven."

Saïx almost grimaced, but stopped himself in time. He thought of the lessons and breakfast, of Axel's cold stare. "That wasn't necessary," he hadn't said, but it was there, and it was stuck now, and Saïx needed it gone.

"It is not working out," said Saïx. "Between my work and Roxas's unique existence, he is not getting the minding he needs for his progress."

"And you would suggest his transferal to someone else's care?"

A great weight lifted off Saïx's shoulders, while another one settled deep in his gut. It was a little like shame, but mostly bacon grease.

"Yes," he said. "I have considered it carefully, and I think Number Eight possesses the qualia for the job."

"Does he?" said the Superior, lips twisting into a smirk, like the curling of barbed vines, and Saïx felt trapped. "Is there a reason you and Number Thirteen are not coinciding peacefully?"

They were coinciding just fine and Saïx could guarantee the Superior was already aware. Any and all explanations he could think of seemed only to dig his grave deeper. The Superior put him down to his place with volcanic eyes and Saïx knew he had already lost.

"I have taken your request under my consideration," said the Superior with a great air of finality, as though he'd agonized over it for hours, instead of three seconds. "I will have to deny your request. Roxas will remain under your care until further notice. If there is nothing else?"

Oh, there was plenty more, but Saïx shook his head and bade the Superior a very polite and diplomatic goodbye, and performed a tactical retreat. The dark corridor deposited him in his room, where he made a beeline for the kettle hopes of setting it to boil water while he handed out assignments. He needed tea. It wasn't until he saw the crunched remains that he remembered it was broken.

Later that morning, as he handed out the assignments, he kept Lunatic out in the open. It served as a nonverbal warning to anyone (Xigbar) who dared to test him. Demyx scurried over to him and practically fled away, while Axel shot him a nigh-venomous look a disapproval that Saïx told himself firmly did not matter, at all.

It wasn't until he handed Lexaeus the mission to Twilight Town that he realized the order wasn't right. A quick shuffle confirmed the worst: Marluxia got his damnable Wonderland mission. That meant Axel was—oh. Oh, dear.

He'd sent Axel to Atlantica.

There was still an assignment leftover after everyone was gone, since Roxas hadn't stopped to grab his—Saïx had never told him. It was the Agrabah assignment. He stared at the unfilled lines, arranging the other members in his head to try and figure out who'd he ended up doubled with and—he had no idea. Roxas probably looked at the assignment on the top and left.

Saïx would like to believe he hadn't left Agrabah one on top, but he'd been looking forward to giving it to Marluxia to spite him. That meant there was possibly a behemoth awaiting Roxas.

A lightning-quick image of Roxas fading, crushed under the onslaught of a behemoth he was woefully unprepared for, invaded his mind. Saïx had wrapped his hand around Lunatic's hilt and stepped through a dark corridor before he had time to reconsider, stepping out into the punishing heat of Agrabah.

He broke into an immediate sweat and pulled his hood up, both to protect his identity and his pale—very burnable—skin. Any fears of issue finding Roxas were swept away by a loud explosion that send plumes of sand and smoke rising up into the ashen blue sky, following by a low rumbling sound that he recognized as a behemoth roar, both loud and low and high, a calamitous mix of sounds not audible to creatures that weren't either Heartless or Nobody in origin.

The thump of a phantom heartbeat drowned out his mind, echoes of thoughts and warnings becoming so distant that he could hardly hear them, hardly care. For what it was worth, he was hardly in his own body.

Saïx arrived at the scene of the battle, Lunatic whirling through the air, a mind of its own, and crashed into the side of the behemoth with the force of rocket-propelled missile. The resulting explosion was no less in power, a shockwave sending sand and a small, dark figure flying back.

Within moments, the behemoth was destroyed, fading in a show of dark energy, and Roxas leapt at the chance to land the finishing blow. The keyblade cut through the air, a shimmering heart ascending into the sky shortly thereafter, and it was done.

It took a few moments for the roar of blood to fade from his ears, the sky turning more of a blue and less of a dusky purple, and he turned as Roxas approached him. The hood was blown off his face, showing a round face and blue eyes, a nest of messy blond hair. Saïx stared into the face of a boy he had not seen in ten years: Ventus.

Had Saïx been anyone else, or a few years younger, he would not have handled the revelation quite so well. As it stood, he twitched, his mind flying into a loop where he tried to slot the missing pieces of a puzzle he hadn't even know existed and failed miserably.

"You're here," said Roxas, monotone to the bittersweet warmth Ventus had expressed. Ventus always struck him as a sad and happy individual—a juxtaposition, a curiosity. And then, in the next breath, he was gone. "It was too powerful."

"Indeed," said Saïx, forcibly pulling himself away from the path of reminiscence (the flowers were nice to look at, but the thorns hurt when they reminded him of things he'd rather forget, and try as he might, he knew he'd be stuck down that road later tonight). "I apologize. It was my mistake and you could have been badly injured for it."

"It's fine," said Roxas, even though it wasn't, but he was too young to understand. Saïx wondered if the older members of the Organization had the same thought process, looking Lea and Isa when they first joined Organization XIII, all of fifteen years old, fresh-faced and youthful.

He opened a corridor to the castle, whisking Roxas away from Agrabah before some other high-level Heartless could spring out at him, drawn by the light of they keyblade.

"Are we going to do a lesson?"

Saïx opened his mouth to say yes, only to cut off halfway.

"No."

It was Roxas's first mission, after all. Saïx wasn't Axel, who would have gotten ice cream and found a sunset, spoken hollow jokes and empty promises. He didn't remember how to celebrate, but a simple break was a universal reward. The only problem was the definite disappointment on Roxas's otherwise zombified expression, a slight droop, like a neglected sunflower.

"Unless you want a lesson."

"Yes, thank you," said Roxas, straightening in a way that could almost be called eager. That the highlight of Roxas's day was homework said something about the quality of his life.

Saïx lingered by the door of his office, Roxas waiting patiently behind him, before an idea struck him blind. He grabbed a couple books, a case that had collected about eight years worth of dust, and several charts, and directed Roxas out of the castle. It was raining outside the castle, so he opened a portal to a world he knew was always cast in nightfall.

The sky cast a wide blanket of glittering stars, ending at the shadowy peaks of far-off mountain ranges, three small moons in the sky like the ripples of a skipping stone. One of the moons was shattered, bits of stardust whirling around it. Years ago, Saïx had stumbled across the world, and instantly tucked it away in his memory banks as one of his favorites. He guarded the secret jealously, told no one of it, and as far as he knew, it had never seen a Heartless. He didn't even know if there were intelligent lifeforms living on it.

Roxas was already whisked away by the magic of the world, gazing up at the stars, eyes widened in what was so much like awe, Saïx squint his eyes and pretend he was a real human.

He opened the case and pulled out a telescope, setting it on the most even ground he could find. The rocky hillside he chose wasn't, perhaps, the best place for stargazing.

A quick brush swiped the dust off the telescope. It was the old one from his school. After becoming a Nobody, he'd returned to the hollowed-out husk of Radiant Garden and pilfered it from the crumbling remains of his school. Now, he could finally put it to use.

"This lesson will be a little different," he said.

"We're studying the stars?"

"Indeed."

He took a few minutes to clean and focus the telescope, but once it was ready, Roxas glued himself to it with such ferocity that Saïx highly suspected he might not have a chance to use it himself. That was well enough, giving him time to observe Roxas's side-profile, noting the similarities between Ventus and him. He wasn't even sure where to start with that particular puzzle.

Roxas let out a cry and pointed, saying, "That one looks like a rabbit!"

Saïx couldn't ever remember being tugged from one bittersweet memory to another so quickly, but it happened and he discovered mental whiplash was, in fact, a real thing. He tilted his head and sure enough—there it was, the sideview of a rabbit, a silver crater against the pale white of the third—and largest—moon in the sky.

Just like that, he was a child again, peering in a telescope that was too big for his face, listening to his grandfather's rumbling voice, tales of his ancestry bounding around his head in fantastical tales of gods and spirits. The stories had almost faded into the place lost memories went, but Roxas's exclamation brought them back with such a force he almost forgot he wasn't under Radiant Garden's stars, on the front porch of his childhood home.

Roxas was shuffling through the pages of a book.

"Rabbits, rabbits…"

"It's not in there," said Saïx, knowing because he'd looked himself, but he came by a secretive jealously honestly, and no ancestral tale would be found in a published book.

"It doesn't have a meaning?" said Roxas, deflating a little.

"There is a story, yes," said Saïx.

"What's the story?"

Saïx's grandfather had more lines in his face than he had tales to tell, a gleam in his eyes that caught the firelight, his hand calloused and warm on the top of his head. He'd almost forgotten the smell of tobacco and the hickory smoked wood burning during bonfires. They'd laughed and told stories that spanned thousands of years, and when he'd invited Lea to join, they told him, too. When did that part of his life turn into a hazy dream?

"Not now," he said, hushed, as though there had been a silence to break.

The slumped line of Roxas's shoulders belayed his disappointment, but Saïx couldn't recount those stories now. Not while they languished in a dull blur of half-recalled memories—such an important part of himself, almost forgotten.

"What about the Moogle one?"

As far as rewards went, it wasn't ice cream on a clocktower. There was no sunset and Roxas wasn't laughing, but Saïx thought he'd done alright. And maybe—just maybe—they'd learn from each other.


	5. Chapter 5

**Day Five**

Saïx was halfway through explaining everything he'd recently learned about the Castle Oblivion mission to Axel, before he noticed the stony silence on the other end of the room. While it wasn't such an unusual thing to occur in recent days, he couldn't remember having done anything to deserve such treatment.

"Remember Atlantica?"

"Oh."

Axel gave a grin that was all teeth and no mirth.

"Yeah, you better "oh." What was that all about?" he crossed his ankles, reaching for the mug of piping hot tea—Saïx pursed his lips as he watched Axel sip from it, thinking of all the times he'd warned Axel that hot water was bad for the throat—and putting on such an air of nonchalance that Saïx almost believed him. "I thought I'd never dry out. This hair isn't made for salt water."

"Neither is the fire, I'd imagine," said Saïx, trying for his best contrite expression.

"I mean, what the hell, man? You know I hate that place, and you send me there anyway? I know Xemnas controls some of the missions, but that was just unprecedented. And then siccing the lions on Demyx in the Pride Lands?"

The hasty, somewhat weak, apology Saïx was trying to scrounge drowned under the injustice of the accusation.

"I hardly asked the things to attack him. The missions were out of order and I didn't notice until it was far too late. Did you think I enjoyed letting Marluxia have Wonderland?"

He'd returned from Wonderland with a refreshed, beaming smile and thrown a wink at Saïx that made him want to throw caution into the wind and commit treason against the Organization. It would be worth it, to watch Marluxia buried six feet under.

"You expect me to believe you had things out of order? You're the most obsessively compulsive organizer in this entire place," said Axel, laughing incredulously. "Was this because I said you needed to loosen the reigns on Roxas a bit? Because I still think you do, I'm not taking that back."

"Roxas is not leashed," said Saïx, "and for the last time, I did not send you there with malicious intentions."

"Oh, no, let me guess," said Axel, "because we're not capable of malice? You don't need to keep reminding me I don't have a heart. It's been ten years."

Saïx, through sheer force of will, swallowed the sour retort that would have devolved the argument to blows, and instead peered past the scowl fixed on Axel's face.

"Did something happen in Atlantica?"

"Oh, so you care?"

It was blurted and Saïx could tell it surprised even Axel, going off how his eyebrows flew up. His face immediately shuddered off, all emotion—faked as it was—going blank. The two of them glared at each other wordlessly, a quiet match of wills, before Axel sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Look, sorry. That was…"

"Uncalled for?" Saïx suggested. "Thoughtless? Moronic?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a loser," said Axel, but the tiniest quirk of his lips betrayed a smile. "Lame."

"Laughable."

The ache reminded Saïx of his almost-forgotten grandfather again.

"We're both pretty sad, if you ask me," said Axel.

"Good thing no one's asking you."

Axel wadded up his report and flung it at Saïx, who caught it and tossed it back. It turned into a game of fetch, while Saïx went over the rest of the details on the Castle Oblivion mission. While the majority of the details surrounding the mission were kept strictly confidential, the most obvious part stuck out: important members of the Organizattion would be involved. More importantly, they would be corralled in a far-off, quiet world that was largely unexplored; dangers unknown, risk level a mystery.

The opportunity dangled before them like a carrot on a stick, tantalizing, convenient, too good to be true.

No less than three pots of coffee were devoured that night. Axel drank most of it, cup after cup. He grew steadily more excitable as the discussion wore on, eventually deviating completely. Saïx, whose long work hours kept him up far past the current time, had to problem staying awake. As Axel spiraled into theatrics of the likes Saïx had not seen since their teen years, he forgot the paperwork. Barbed comments and frigid calculation was replaced by flailing limbs and wide eyes.

So into his tale, Saïx didn't realize something was wrong until Axel stopped. He blinked, head tilted.

"Yes?"

Axel rubbed a wisp of hair out of his forehead, looking away from Saïx, only for his eyes to dart back to him again.

"Nothing, just—realized I haven't seen a smile on your face in a long time."

That wasn't right at all. Saïx pressed his fingers to his lips, as though he could trace out the answers on his skin. He pulled his mouth into a frown.

"Now, that's not an improvement!" said Axel, reaching over boldly and pulling Saïx's hands away.

Saïx batted his hands. Quick and slippery as an eel, Axel darted passed his arms and yanked on the corners of his mouth without mercy.

"Here we go!" he crowed. "Smile!"

Saïx shoved him away, regretting it as his skin tugged painfully, before Axel let go. He scowled, rubbing his sore face, as Axel laughed uproariously. Without missing a beat, Saïx grabbed a cup of water and upended it over Axel's head. His hair stuck to his skull, eyes owlish, gasping, his arms held out as though that would stop the water from dripping down his back.

There was exactly three seconds, before Axel recovered from his shock, for Saïx to regret everything.

Deliberately slow, Axel wiped the water away from his face, whipping head back and forth like a dog. He lifted his head, one eyebrow cocked, giving Saïx a chance to explain himself.

Then, with all the timing of a shipping service in an area frequented by hurricanes, Roxas opened the door. He had an armful of paperwork and, even from where Saïx stood, he could tell it was finished. Roxas stood in the door, blue eyes surveying the scene.

"Roxas," said Saïx, instead of apologizing for his childish behavior, like any mature adult would have done. "I have a new exercise for you. Axel is in need of drying."

Axel looked gobsmacked.

Insistent on digging his own grave, Saïx continued, "He's fireproof."

"Should I put the paperwork elsewhere?" said Roxas, very seriously.

"You are not setting me on fire," said Axel.

"If Mister Saïx orders it—"

"'Mister' Saïx is an ass—"

"Language."

"I am going to shove that language stick so far and fast up your backside you'll be tasting your own bark."

"Should I go?" said Roxas, looking from Saïx to Axel, both of whom were glaring at each other. His hand hovered over the desk with the paperwork, clearly doubting their safety should he leave them there. It was good of him to worry. If Saïx remembered correctly, a few of those were missions assigned directly by the Superior for tomorrow. "And, I don't think setting Axel on fire will dry him off… it'll just burn him."

He said it plaintively, as though Saïx had suggested something that required the world tilting upside down.

"Leave those here," said Saïx. "But the single file—no, not that one—yes, that's it-needs goes to Number Eleven."

"Is it a mission?"

Axel swiped more hair out of his face, completely and utterly calm. Roxas definitely needed to leave immediately.

"It's a behavioral notice," said Saïx, allowing himself the slightest pettiness, "for the way he's been acting of late."

Roxas nodded. He turned to leave, but one more thing sprang up in Saïx's memory.

"And don't think I haven't noticed Number Nine giving you sweets," he said. "No more of those."

"Yes, sir," said Roxas.

The slump in Roxas's shoulders as he left, so clearly downtrodden, was almost enough to chip at Saïx's icy determination to keep his diet clean. Almost. He had a treat planned for tonight, made of mostly chocolate. When he'd learned of Demyx sneaking Roxas sweets between meals, he'd been forced to push that treat to a later date. Sure, Roxas was young, but healthy habits were good to start early. He would have add extra vegetables to their next meal.

He turned and Axel's look slammed into him with the force of a bullet train.

Dripping, resembling a drowned rat, the purple markings on his face were starting to run. Saïx had crossed a line again. He ran a checklist over everything he'd said—Roxas wasn't on a mission, he hadn't insulted anyone, and he wasn't ordering Roxas around too much. It wasn't the water; Saïx had done that hundreds of times, as—

As Isa. He'd done that as Isa.

"So, he looks familiar," said Axel conversationally.

Saïx grasped the unravelling ends of the evening and tried desperately to tie them back together with levity that was neither real, nor came naturally.

"Yes, one would think he'd have aged in a decade."

"One might think," Axel ground out. " 'One' might also think you'd let the kid off."

"He looks just like a boy who was there and gone in a day, and you're still worried about his workload?" said Saïx.

"I'm worried about that, too," said Axel. "And don't think I haven't noticed you didn't tell me-and don't tell me you didn't think of it. You think of everything."

He didn't, Saïx thought. He really didn't, he wanted to say. His mouth remained firmly sown shut, tongue turned to iron.

"What's up with your deal with what he eats, too?" Axel burst out, flinging a hand to the door, where Roxas had left. "You aren't his handler. He can do what he wants."

"Not when "what he wants" is detrimental to his effectiveness."

"Effectiveness?"

The word was echoed. Axel barked a laugh that sounded like cracking glass.

"Remember that time you wouldn't leave the privy until you fished a bumblebee out of the toilet bowl?"

He remembered a lavatory made of wood and half-overrun with vines. Bees had taken it and the air smelled of flowers, sweet and overpowering. It was nestled in the middle of nowhere. There had been a loud, panicked buzzing within, and Isa—Saïx—a blue-haired child not quite like him—had opened the door, and then—nothing.

"Then—then you got bitten by a raccoon and had to get a tetanus shot. Remember why? You tried to get the damn thing out of a hunter's trap."

"It was illegal to hunt here," said Saïx, without really knowing why.

"That wasn't the POINT—"

Axel massaged his forehead.

"You were a good, nice kid."

"I'm not a child anymore, Lea."

"So?" said Axel, arms held out with a hollow ring of helplessness. "Sure, we don't have hearts anymore, but we know right from wrong and-"  
"All this over Roxas's food?" said Saïx, impatience like a fire-breathing serpent coiling in his stomach. It squeezed his chest and made it hard to breathe. "I'm done here."

He opened a dark corridor, ignoring the way Axel spluttered, red-faced, reaching for him—and walked through. That look on Axel's face sunk deep. He pushed it away in lieu of scrawling it over his mind's eye, tattooing it there. It bobbed on the surface of his thoughts. He concluded with a sort of mechanical observation that went down like a bitter pill that the memory of Axel's look would fester.

The other side was some dark, secluded part of the World That Never Was. Rain pattered down, soft and steady. Kingdom Hearts glowed softly, the same color as the electric lights that gleamed in the darkness. The lights ran together down the streets, reflected in the rainfall, so that Saïx couldn't tell where Kingdom Hearts began and the artificial lights ended.

Hundreds of feet below him, the ground crawled with heartless. There was always a steady flow of them, drawn to the power of the collected hearts.

The power of Kingdom Hearts was the most intoxicating sort of addiction, thrumming through his veins like lightning. It pulled weight off his shoulders he didn't know was there, wiped away his exhaustion. He was no longer looking down from a height that would kill him, but a landing that would carry his force into a strike that would annihilate his enemies in a single stroke.

It was as though someone pulled a plug that had gone unnoticed until that moment. Everything was sucked out in a matter of seconds, howling into the void. Then, it was him being pulled through. He recognized the signs of going berserk, but he was alone with the heartless, and the only damage would be to the empty buildings and roads.

Usually, berserk state was like a dreamless sleep. He woke sporadically and didn't stop until he was out of energy, or all his enemies were fallen.

In the throes of berserk, Saïx's mind was awake. He was in the center of a typhoon, catching only vague shapes in the corner of his eyes. The ground stretched like melted cheese and lashed around his limbs, dragging him down. His nails tore at asphalt as he tried to anchor himself. The harder he grasped for sense, the more it eluded him.

A white door behind a picket fence appeared, abandoned for decades, dark windows full of dust. He was pulled towards it. All at once, Saïx knew he didn't want to go in that door. He could not go inside that door, no matter the cost.

He fought and it was punishing, yanking him toward the door. He was crushed against the wooden surface. Saïx saw himself in millions of pieces, squished through the crack between the door and the doorjamb, reduced to a pulp.

Bracing his hands against the doorframe, he pushed with all his strength, joints popping and limbs aching. All the gravity of the worlds were on his back. Something tugged against him—a lifeline.

The door retreated and the distorted tendrils of the world released his arms and legs. He could breathe again—he didn't know when he'd stopped breathing, but he was light-headed.

Someone was speaking.

The first thing he noticed was the earth-shaking crash of something heavy. Glass shattered, spraying through the air. Through a numbed body, Saïx sensed more than felt a shard slice through his already scarred face.

He sat back on his haunches, touching the wound. That would leave a mark.

Heat pressed against his face. Muddled as he was, he knew it was very powerful. It vibrated in a way that was also familiar. His body was locked down. Try as he might, he couldn't force himself to look up and confirm the identity of the newcomer.

Perhaps, he thought, as gloved fingers pushed under his chin, and he made eye-contact with the Superior, it was better he was stuck in obeisance.

"Did that help?" said the Superior, as though he'd known all the pent up energy Saïx had kept under lock and key for months.

Feeling was slowly returning to Saïx's body. The grip on his jaw became painful. The Superior's face was cut from stone.

Saïx remembered standing at the top of the building, looking over the World That Never Was. He had leveled that building, along with the one next to it—and the one next to that one. The streets were in shambles. Shadows writhed in the corner of his eye, a testament to the futility of his outburst. He was no keyblade wielder. He could never truly destroy them.

Kneeling in the destruction brought by his own hand, Saïx could get a good grasp of how far he'd fallen. The Superior seemed to rival the buildings from that angle, backlit by Kingdom Hearts. His fingers bit into Saïx's jaw and held him there.

He didn't know whether to apologize, beg forgiveness, or ask why the Superior had pulled him from the berserk state. He didn't know if his mistake was a fatal error, or a temporary setback—maybe there was no difference.

For over a decade, Saïx had worked for his position, for his sense of being, and now it was clutched in the unrelenting grip of the Superior. He trembled like a chickling, in the thin shell of his breakable body, at the mercy of the Superior.

The Superior, without moving his hand an inch, cast a look at the destruction. He could feel no true anger, Saïx reminded himself, but it didn't help. Of course it didn't help.

Once, in a rare, poetic sort of rumination, he likened the Superior's eyes to Kingdom Hearts. He kept the thought to himself, buried it deep within. Now, he changed his own mind. Those eyes could only be described as volcanic. The Superior would destroy everything in his path, as was his nature.

"Is there something you should report?"

His voice was sudden as falling rocks. Speechlessness was not a quality useful in a situation like this one. It had taken him, regardless of use.

A cool breeze blew by Saïx's neck as the Superior closed his fist on his ethereal blade. Saïx couldn't bring himself to relax. Not when the tips of the Superior's long fingers could just reach his exposed neck.

Without warning, the hand left his chin—only to grasp his arm and pull him, boneless, up to his feet. A dark corridor enclosed them, depositing them at the observatory. Unbeknownst to most people, there was a barrier that enclosed the observatory most of the day. It didn't serve to completely block the moonlight, but it was enough to pull away the last dredges of fog from Saïx's mind.

Gathering the remains of his composure was a futile effort. He was tempted to sag against the railing and reveal the extent of his exhaustion. Habit and pride kept his back straight.

"Have you regained yourself?" said the Superior.

"My apologies," said Saïx—and hoped he sounded more like he'd turned in disorganized files, rather than destroyed a sizable chunk of the city.

"Apologies will not trace the root of the issue at hand," said the Superior, as though Saïx was a machine that had malfunctioned. "Is there anything you should report?"

"Work has progressed in a standard manner."

"Roxas's progress?"

Saïx ground to a halt. He had sent Roxas on one mission, and it was nearly to his death.

"Steady."

"Outside those two variables?"

He thought of wide eyes and a furious face. He couldn't remember if Axel had really looked so betrayed, but that was what his memory fed him.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, sir."

The Superior's hum of acknowledgement was unexpectedly humanlike. It could have even been called musical. Saïx didn't realize he was staring until the Superior returned his look. The curled smile made hairs rise on Saïx's neck. It was beatific in its nature. It was something else, too. Were they playing a game of poker, Saïx would have folded.

He waited for the final query, the dilemma that pushed him into the final rock and hard place.

The Superior was the sort of predator that played with his food, so he let Saïx suffer in the silence. Only after Saïx was having violent mental images of his own death, did he finally speak.

"Numbers Four, Five, Twelve—"

Saïx startled out of a vision of his mangled corpse.

"—and Six will be on the team to Castle Oblivion," said the Superior. He crossed his arms—and Saïx highly suspected it had more to do with the size of his pectoral muscles, rather than insecurity—and threw a careless look at Saïx. "Number Eleven will head the team. Four is in charge of the science division. Five and Six will take care of security."

Saïx had been picturing his death seconds ago, but that didn't stop him balking. He had never imagined Marluxia leading anything of importance, even in his worst nightmares.

"Understood," he said.

"Number Eight shall accompany them."

The carrot stick was dangling again. Either the Superior thought him so foolish he wouldn't notice the bait, or there was another facet of the mission Saïx was missing. He didn't dare move. Accepting the twist too easily would make him seem opportunist; questioning too much would be insubordinate.

"That number of working members would leave the castle understaffed," he said, instead of outright questioning the Superior's decision. "Number Eight has missions planned a week in advance. The others' schedules are looser."

"Do you have a suitable replacement?"

Saïx had a bout of strong déjà vu. They had a conversation exactly like this one not too long ago. It hadn't gone in Saïx's favor. Chances were, the Superior would ignore Saïx's suggestion and do whatever he wanted to do. That didn't make Saïx consider Demyx for the job any less.

In no version of reality would the Superior measure Demyx worthy of such a mission. If Saïx really cared about Castle Oblivion, he wouldn't even think of sending Demyx, either. However, any amount of time without him sounded like a vacation.

Through an enormous labor of effort, Saïx bypassed an extended break from Demyx.

"Number Ten fits those requirements," he said. "He's not as heavy a hitter as Number Eight, but he excels at reconnaissance."

"Indeed," said the Superior, in that "You can have your opinion, even if it's wrong," kind of tone. "Under careful consideration—"

Saïx had counted the seconds. It was three, exactly.

"—I have decided Number Eight will stay on the Castle Oblivion mission. The presence of another "heavy hitter" in a potentially dangerous, unexplored world seems wise, does it not?"

"Of course, sir," said Saïx.

"Additionally," said the Superior, "there is no end to the use of an extra pair of eyes, wouldn't you agree?"

Then, easy as chatting about tea, he dropped one last bombshell.

"There is a traitor in our Organization. They will be in Castle Oblivion."

It was probably just Saïx's imagination, but the air seemed to be heating up. He was very glad discussions of insurgence and betrayal had only ever been verbal plans. Saïx and Lea had kept enough of their habits from youth, impulsive and driven mostly by the will of the moment, that they never laid hard plans. There was no physical proof of their disloyalty.

Saïx tore his eyes from the vague, dark spot he'd been focusing on intensely, and immediately wished he hadn't. The Superior lacked the faraway look that usually possessed him. Saïx was pinned and made a glass butterfly under his full scrutiny. He peered out from the frame of a world that was much smaller than he imagined.

"I understand," said Saïx.

The Superior hummed again, a dismissal.

Left with a little over half of Organization XIII left to finish missions, Saïx would have to come up with completely new work schedules. Hellish work schedules. Work that he would have to physically participate in.

Drained, Saïx portaled to the Gray Area, not quite knowing why. He met Roxas there, thumbing through papers. With a defeated sigh, he plucked the papers up, shuffling through them. Most of them were finished.

"You don't have to do this," he said, thinking of his rude send-off of Roxas. It felt like forever ago, but it had only been hours. "This is my work."

There was validity to Axel's rants. Of the skills Saïx had taught him, the most useful thing was how to tell directions with stars. It wasn't even Organization related, nor was it useful to their cause.

"It helps," said Roxas, as though that explained everything. "You work a lot."

Saïx had been around Roxas long enough to hear the parroted quality of his tone.

"Who said that?" he asked dully.

"Axel," said Roxas. "Is that okay?"

He wasn't a handler. His words echoed hollowly, Axel's concerns ringing true again. He felt like a failure in more than one way.

"You can speak to whoever you wish. Axel is... a good person."

None of them among the Organization were "good people." Even little Roxas, with time, would be stained in blood. The thought was worse than the sensation of being forced through that white door.

Saïx shuffled the papers one last time. It was a day for bad decisions.

"Would you like cake?"

"What's cake?"

"Allow me to enlighten you."


	6. Chapter 6

**Day Six**

"Has Xemnas lost his mind?"

Saïx's mouth was wired shut. He kept his hands very still at his sides. The Superior could not hear through walls, nor could he sense when someone spoke his name in a disrespecting manner from across the castle. None of that stopped Saïx from holding his breath and waiting for the deep timbre of the Superior to ask, wryly, whatever the matter was with Number Four.

A few dozen baubles were hanging from the walls, bubbling a soft blue. They were for light and served no other purpose than to look interesting. Saïx knew this because he'd snooped through all of Even's research papers, once upon a time, when he'd been young enough to be curious. The real experiments, the important ones, were shoved in cages and cells and locked behind titanium-enforced doors in the side of solid walls, blocked off from the light. Those were the mysteries Saïx never cared to unveil anymore.

Long ago, when Isa had been the mystery under sterilized tools and dispassionate eyes, he'd stopped caring too much about medical science. It had become less about curing illnesses, and more about poking and prodding in places that needed left alone.

Vexen slammed a vial down, just hard enough that the liquid sloshed within. The cot next to him, covered in a large blanket, flinched. Saïx decided he didn't want to know.

"He couldn't have given more warning?" said Vexen, snapping books shut with so much force he must have wanted them to break. Saïx really wondered how he had the energy to put on such displays after working for so long. He had to be taking something. "My tests are in a delicate state and can't be moved. If he would warn me of these things ahead of time, I would not start such intensive experiments and it wouldn't be an issue in the first place—"

"You'll be leaving tomorrow by midday," said Saïx, longing to be out of the laboratory. The smell of cleaning agents was starting to give him a headache. He blinked in an attempt to drag moisture into his eyes. It felt like the atmosphere was wringing him dry. "Those are the Superior's orders."

_"Pah!"_

Vexen shoved books onto shelves, fluttering from desk to desk, gathering papers. He grumbled under his breath, a curtain of blond hair covering his face. Long fingers paused on a glossy page. It reflected the artificial lights, obscuring it from Saïx.

Years of habit had Saïx tilting his head, to catch it at another angle. He had a split second before Vexen shoved the image in with the papers to glimpse silver hair and a single, owlish eye.

"Zexion will need to oversee my more sensitive experiments," said Vexen in a rush, going back into stride as though he never stopped. "The fungi are just starting to develop—"

"Zexion will be accompanying you."

Vexen's swear was loud and venomous.

Of all the things Saïx expected to see upon returning to his office, a converted classroom wasn't one of them.

At once, he was reverted to childhood. He was five years old again and walking into a bright, colorful classroom. It had always felt fake to him. The classroom had tried to convince him it was something good, something interesting and fun; all it taught him was the teacher disliked something about him.

No, he would never learn what it was they didn't like about him.

A blackboard was set on one of his walls, mathematical equations chalked onto it. A few papers of prominent Radiant Garden historical figures were pinned in a square. Lines connected them in some way that was inconsequential to Saïx.

The moment he'd stepped in, all movement within had stopped. Roxas was wide-eyed. The other, even less expected, visitor was not surprised in the least.

Zexion set down his book. He had the decency to look chagrined, and the illusion disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

"Forgive me," he said, polite as ever, "but when I heard Roxas was having frequent lessons, I thought to chip in."

Saïx looked at Roxas, who met his gaze evenly. He couldn't understand how rare it was to find someone who could—or was willing—to look Saïx in the eyes in recent days. It was different when he turned to Zexion, who immediately dropped his attention a little to the left, focusing on a spot right next to Saïx's ear.

There was nothing personal about it, Saïx knew. It was in the blankness of Zexion's expression, the way his face was smooth and unwrinkled by anything, be it a smile or frown.

"Carry on," he said, in lieu of sending them away. It would wreak havoc on his productivity, but Roxas liked company. He took a seat at his desk, pulling a pile of paperwork closer, already prepared for the messy tangle of sloppy information that was Demyx's "report."

Between papers, he peeked up at Roxas and Zexion. Complex equations that Saïx knew Roxas didn't understand were floating through the air, but Zexion was explaining them with a level of passion that seemed to have swept Roxas off his feet. The side of Saïx's mouth spasmed.

He buried his head under the papers again. The stress was finally getting to him: he was suffering acute twitches. A brain tumor, perhaps. Or a smile.

Just as Zexion was explaining how chemistry, physics, and mathematics were the language that universe always centered back to, Roxas perked up.

"Saïx takes me to see constellations sometimes," he said.

Saïx reread the same sentence for the third time. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure he'd read the one before it, too.

"It's—er—not the language of the universe," said Roxas, sounding abashed. The emotions he showed were always like splashes of incredible, vibrant color in an otherwise gray toned world. "It's pretty awesome, though. One of the constellations looks like a moogle."

"Does it?"

There was genuine curiosity in Zexion's tone and it made Saïx want to sink deeper into his chair. Two people had officially become a crowd.

He risked another look up.

They weren't looking at him, but at the same book on the universe Saïx had caught Roxas rereading over and over again.

Behind the safety of paperwork and the allure of stars, Saïx was studied the two of them. Roxas was the obvious mystery: a face from the past with a liveliness he had no memories to mimic. Zexion, on the other hand, was something else altogether.

Isa had first met little Ienzo while the child was in the throes of a meltdown. He'd gone to get his Tuesday ice cream at Scrooge's, but they'd been out of the sea-salt flavor. The resulting breakdown was a disaster. It ended with a little boy, no older than six, bawling his eyes out of the ground.

His caretaker had been someone new—not Even, nor the other guards tasked with looking after Ienzo—and Isa only remembered seeing the person once. He suspected the reason was the caretaker's response to the meltdown by snapping at Ienzo.

While the caretaker tried to coax "real, sensible," words out of Ienzo, all but tearing their hair out, Isa joined Ienzo on the ground. At a bit of a loss, but wanting to help nonetheless, he'd hummed the old hymns his grandfather played by the bonfires. Isa had lost count of all the times his grandfather's rumbling, broken tones had drawn him out of a nightmare.

Isa's voice was thin and shaky starting out, but when Lea chimed in, it strengthened. By the third verse, Ienzo had calmed down.

None of that boy was visible in Zexion.

Saïx wasn't Isa anymore, either, so there would be no impromptu lullabies.

Then again—Zexion was sliding the books back into place, halfway through a tirade about the smell of darkness—he didn't think the calming hymns would be necessary.

On autopilot, he'd finished half a stack of work before he noticed the reigning silence. He looked up to see Roxas standing patiently at the end of the desk. Zexion had returned to his duties elsewhere at some point.

"Is it okay if Zexion comes with us next time we go stargazing?" said Roxas, the moment eye-contact was established.

"Perhaps you should have asked that before you invited him along?" said Saïx.

Roxas nodded.

"But, can he come?"

A sigh slipped by before Saïx could help it.

"He's… welcome to come along."

"Great!" said Roxas, grinning ear to ear, hitting Saïx like a smack to the face. That was new. Roxas didn't smile—he didn't know Roxas could smile.

Roxas left him floundering in the middle of another existential crisis, returning the books to their places. Roxas poured himself a cup of green tea, finished half a stack of paperwork, before retiring to bed. All of his own volition.

After rereading a paragraph no less than fifteen times, forgetting it halfway through doubly so, Saïx called it a night.

Or, that's what he would have done if he had the leisure. Instead, Saïx poured himself three cups of coffee and committed himself to a night of torture.

He finished just before midnight, after a full pot of coffee. Missions were ordered, assigned, and—to make up for the Pride Lands mix-up—he'd given Demyx Atlantica. He didn't expect a thank you, but at least they couldn't call him a tyrant.

Trembling with jitters, he put away the coffee machine in its hiding spot under his desk, setting the desk for the next evening. Exhausted, heart thundering, tempted to go berserk just for the hell of it, he opened a dark corridor to his room.

Abandoning all pretenses of dignity, still clad in black leather, Saïx dropped into bed. Sighing, he closed his eyes, letting rest enclose him. He counted each heart beat as he waited for sleep to take him.

There was a little smudge of something on the ceiling. It was probably from tea Saïx had thrown at some point. He'd opened his eyes. He closed them again.

He didn't remember throwing tea, though.

Saïx frowned at the smudge on the ceiling.

He turned on his side. Then he turned again. The covers were too hot—the room was too cold. His clothing were restrictive.

He'd forgotten to debrief Zexion.

Saïx shot upright, blue hair awry.

He stopped himself short of opening a dark corridor directly into Zexion's room. Zexion probably wasn't asleep yet—the only one with insomnia worse than Saïx was Zexion—but he wouldn't appreciate someone appearing out of nowhere in his personal space. Saïx politely knocked, scraping together the last bits of poise that weren't completely frayed.

The door opened not long after, confirming Zexion wasn't even close to retired for the night. His room was well-lit, a table full of bubbling science experiments pushed to one end by his bed. There were a couple bookshelves, but most of his research was kept on a small tablet. The tablet was a project of Zexion's own creation and terrifically convenient.

Naturally, Saïx wasn't given one.

"Oh, hello, Saïx," said Zexion. He opened the door wider. "I wasn't expecting company."

"My apologies," said Saïx. "And I must apologize again: it was my duty to inform you that you've been chosen for a confidential mission, starting tomorrow."

He recapped Castle Oblivion quickly, opting to shove a manila folder with all the mission details, as a blankness crawled over Zexion's face.

"Starting tomorrow?" said Zexion.

"That is correct."

Zexion gave a halfhearted, aborted motion to his experiments.

"These are rather…"

He shuffled through the folder.

"Marluxia is our team lead?"

There was something very close to real despair in his voice, even as his eyes lost focus.

"I need to prepare," he said. "Thank you for informing me. I suppose I'll have to ask Vexen to oversee my-"

"Vexen is accompanying you."

The folder was snapped shut.

"I would like to lodge a complaint with our Superior."

As the first hateful rays of dawn appeared in the void sky, Saïx stepped out a dark corridor onto the roof of the Castle That Never Was. The skeletal form of Kingdom Hearts, hardly more than a glowing thread in the sky at that point, wasn't strong enough to out-glow the artificial sun.

Standing at the railing, as always, was the Superior. One lone figure against the wide patio and endless darkness before him should not have been so intimidating. Saïx was personally acquainted with his ethereal blades and, as such, it was very intimidating. To make matters worse was the nature of his visit.

"Sir," he said in lieu of a greeting. It was a rip-the-bandaid-off-quickly sort of visit. He held a stack of folders gingerly, making a conscious effort not to crease the folder in his death grip.

The Superior slanted him a sideways look, but said nothing. It was permission to speak enough.

"I have a few… complaints here," said Saïx stiffly.

He had tried to bully a few dusks into delivering the formal complaints, but not even they were so suicidal.

"Is that so?" said the Superior, a single eyebrow arched. His voice was pitched in surprise.

There was another list in Saïx's pocket that had nothing to do with work or Kingdom Hearts. It was a numbered list of things he would do to people the people who lodged the complaints, if he was turned into a dusk. Some assumed the dusks were mindless; Saïx had had his office graffitied enough to know otherwise. If even ten percent of that mischievous nature was present in himself, he would have his revenge.

"I'm curious," said the Superior, holding out a hand.

Saïx gave him the folders.

"Recap them," said the Superior, even as he flipped through the pages.

"More than twenty-four hours forewarning would be wise, for future reference."

The Superior, rather than being every inch of annoyed that Saïx had expected, looked amused. He had the audacity to smile as Saïx read Vexen's complaint.

He was dismissed with his life, unbelievably, intact. When he portaled into the corridors outside his room, he caught the scent of ash, salt, and sweet, and knew Axel was somewhere nearby. Their last conversation hadn't ended on the best note and with Axel leaving soon, Saïx might not have another chance to say anything for awhile.

Saïx didn't move, as the scent lingered in the air. It got neither stronger, nor weaker, so Axel was probably standing somewhere, too. Maybe he was thinking about it. Maybe he was dreading his mission tomorrow. Maybe he was still thinking Saïx was terrible mistreating Roxas.

There would be another chance.

Saïx opened a dark corridor to his room.

There would always be another chance.

"Hey!"

He was far enough away that he could walk through the portal, Axel's call having believably gone unheard. Instead, his legs gained a will of their own, rooting to the ground before the dark corridor. The tug of darkness lapped around his arms and legs, the sweet and gentle call of a positive magnet to the negative side.

Saïx turned.

Sparks of green, a mane of red hair, veritably bursting with life-Saïx forgot he was talking Axel. He was scratching the back of his head, a look of constipated awkwardness that sent him hurtling back to twelve years old. He smelled autumn breezes and tasted salt and sugar, he saw innocence in unburdened smiles, and he ached.

"I just wanted to… well, y'know," said Lea—said Axel, brushing his finger over his nose, by the marks.

"I'm sorry to tell you—"

"Can we not argue—"

"—but I'm not blessed with telepathy."

"—it's getting really—wait, what?"

Axel took three great strides to him, turned this way and that, as though another angle would help him discover what oddity in Saïx's face had struck him.

"Was that a joke? An honest-to-gods joke?"  
"No," said Saïx flatly. "It was the honest truth."

"I can't believe it," said Axel. "Sarcasm. Thought I'd die first."

Saïx pursed his lips. He crossed his arms over his chest. It wouldn't stop the memories dragging him down, quicker than a deadly siren, but it helped.

"Look, we're adults, you know?"

Saïx raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, wait—"

"You're just now figuring that out?"

"Alright, laugh it up, asshole," said Axel, mouth twisted into a grin. He had his arms crossed, too. They were mirror images of discomfort. "Get it out of your system."

"It took you ten years to realize we were growing up."

"Yep."

"I'm glad you're finally graduating your adolescent brain."

"I'm sure you are."

"It took you a couple years later than the average neophyte, but you've caught up."

Saïx clamped his mouth shut, on the brink of smiling. It made his stomach feel light. His face relaxed from a stiffness he hadn't known was there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled.

"Are you finished?" said Axel, uncrossing his arms to poke Saïx square on the nose. "Got it all out?"

"I think so," he said.

"That's good. Because I wanted to… hoo, boy. Look, I wanted to apologize."

Saïx reached for the appropriate reaction. He came up empty.

"We're all adults here, you know? And we've been avoiding each other like high school brats," said Axel, running a hand through his hair. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. "I took how you were treating Roxas at face value—didn't even bother to look a little deeper. And, well—you're doing good with the kid."

Somehow, the fact Roxas was a child was still more important than the fact he was a ghost from their past. Saïx didn't understand. The temptation to follow that strand of curiosity lingered, but he knew better than to fan that flame. He could risk an argument later.

Now was his chance for patching things up.

"I almost got him killed," he said, because good sense was not something his tongue shared with his brain. "That day the missions were mixed up. You were given Atlantica, and Roxas was tasked with defeating a Behemoth in Agrabah."

Axel gave a soft, "Oh, shit."

"I figured out the mishap before he could be injured," said Saïx, "but the point is: I have not been very good at looking after him."

"I mean, it could be worse."

"It hasn't been a week and he's already almost died. I haven't kept up with his lessons: Zexions taught him today. I don't know where he's getting the toaster strudels, but they're not good for him."

Mentoring Roxas was a disaster. He was trying to bail out a sinking ship with a shot glass.

Axel hummed thoughtfully, breaking into a sharp grin. It was all teeth and more of Axel, than Lea.

"I don't think taking care of kids was ever gonna be easy," he said. "Thankfully, I am an expert."

"No, you're not."

"When I get back—also, yes I am—we can brainstorm and put together a better—ugh, I can't believe I'm saying this—we can put together a schedule," said Axel, grimacing as though the words tasted bitter. "A little bit your way and a little bit my way. Just—it'd be nice to get together without arguing, don't you think?"

He looked casual, leaning against the wall carelessly, but his voice strained with ill-contained desperation. He watched Saïx's every move with a hawk-like stare, looking for the vaguest hints of a reaction.

"That would be… nice," said Saïx, the admission forming oddly in his mouth. His hand squeezed around his arm impulsively. "After your mission."

Axel nodded, a tight grin on his face, restrained behind forced composure. He was so obviously bursting at the seams. Saïx was at a loss for what to say.

"I'll see you, then," said Axel, pushing off the wall. He patted Saïx's shoulder, keeping his touch brief and light, a wall of contained energy. "I've missed talking to you—I'm not afraid to admit that."

Saïx couldn't even bring himself to point out Axel couldn't fear admitting anything. All he wanted was to smile and let that blissful, painless feeling pass over his face. (He wanted to feel that in his heart, too.)

Another dark corridor opened, at Axel's behest. He released Saïx's shoulder to turn and walk through it.

Saïx sucked in a breath at the sight of Axel's back, words tumbling out.

"I have missed you, too."

Lea whirled around, lucid and free, as though that was all he needed to let go. He grinned again—this time, without reservation.

"See you, Isa."

He vanished into the dark corridor. Saïx's soft, halting reply echoed in his wake, unheard.

"See you… Lea."


End file.
